Thanks, Fred
by LadyShinigami12
Summary: The Weasley family mourns for Fred's loss, but they must move on.
1. Ginny

**Oh, gosh, I hate sad fics, but this had to be written or it would have driven me nuts. Anway, I think the first chapters longest, I'm not sure about the others.**

**I don't own anything.**

_Fred shook his head as he watched his grieving family. For the first time, he regretted having such a big family. He certainly had his work cut out for him. _

_He looked around at the bunch of redheads. He'd start with the youngest. He never could stand to see his baby sister cry._

Ginny hated crying, but she couldn't stop these past couple of days. She had finally gotten away from her mother and was hiding out in the garden. Ever since—the battle—her mum almost always had her arms around her young daughter, as if to make sure she wouldn't go away too.

_Oh, Fred!_ She thought. She felt the tears coming back. Some girls loved to cry at everything, like (she nearly gagged) Cho Chang. Ginny was never one of those girls. Her brothers had 'taught' her early on that crying would get her picked on. Fred had taken it upon himself to pull her hair when she cried over things like lost toys.

She wiped away her tears and watched a gnome chase after a lightning bug in the night air.

"Ginny?" she recognized Harry's voice anywhere, "I-I saw you walk outside, and I thought-but you want to be alone, I'm sorry, I'll just—"

"No," Ginny said. If he had come a mere minute earlier, she would have let him leave, but a breeze had passed over her like a wave that told her Harry would make it better. "Sit down, please."

Harry paused for only a moment and then came to sit next to her. "Ginny," he said slowly, "I wanted to wait, because I know you're still mourning. We're all still mourning,"

It was at that moment that it dawned on Ginny that Fred was the first loved one she had really lost, but Harry had lost several, almost all of his loved ones. Why hadn't she thought of that before? "Oh, Harry, now I know what it was like for you, except it must have been ten times worse. I'm so sorry."

"No, no don't be sorry." He said, as if this conversation wasn't going in the direction he planned, "What's done is done, it's all over now, and I-" He swallowed, "Ginny, it's been about a year since Dumbledore's funeral, and yet everything is different now." He looked her in the eyes and then glanced back to the gnomes. "Last year, I thought I was destined to die, and I thought my entire future would go into defeating Voldemort." Ginny was surprised that after sixteen years of shuddering at the name, she didn't even flinch. Perhaps seeing him die had made her immune. "and I didn't want that for you."

Ginny looked up at him. Of course, Dumbledore's funeral! It was where he had broken up with her, and yet it seemed like they had been together up until Harry left. "But Voldemort's gone now." He continued, "I know there are still other Death Eater's on the run, and I plan on hunting them down too, but I find that my future is suddenly free and-" He swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes as if he had dared himself to say these words to her. "And I want you in it."

Ginny found herself at a loss for words, which was something that rarely happened to her. "Ginny?" Harry asked, "Would you-I mean-I want us to be together again." He bit his lips, waiting for her response.

The wind passed over her again, pushing her closer to Harry. "Harry James Potter, I can't believe you." She said, "If you really thought that the moment I saw you again we were still considered broken up, I think the wizarding world needs to do a little more thinking about it's chosen hero's or whatever."

_Fred had always hated your tears_ a voice said from inside her head, _That's why he always pulled your hair, because he wanted you to stop. Fred liked making people laugh, not cry._ Suddenly she found she was smiling. Harry smiled back at her. For no reason she could see, she started laughing. Confused, Harry continued smiling until Ginny swung her hands around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

They stayed in the garden for several minutes, telling each other how much they missed each other while they were separated, but secretly they were both using each other to heal. Soon, they stopped talking and simply embraced each other.

Ginny whispered so low that even Harry didn't hear her, or else he chose to ignore it, "Thanks, Fred."


	2. Ron

Ron had taken to waking up earlier than anyone these days. He told everyone he was still used to waking up early to keep watch over the campsite, but really, he just enjoyed the quiet.

Fred had always tortured him when they were kids, but he was his brother, and no matter how angry he got, Ron knew it had always been in the spirit of fun. Fred knew that Ron had never really been mad at him. Didn't he?

He looked out the front window and started remembering all the times he and his brothers had played out there. Remembering hurt, but he felt he had to do it. It was his responsibility to remember Fred. Wasn't it?

His attention was caught when a figure magically appeared outside the gate. It took him a moment to realize it was Hermione walking down the path.

His thoughts strayed back to the battle, as it did all too often these days. Hermione had left the very next day to look for her parents. Ron had still been mourning with his family. He didn't know if he would stop mourning, but that first day had left the entire Weasley family in tears.

He found himself opening the door for her before she had gotten past the garage where their old Fort Anglia had stayed. She looked up into his eyes and paused a moment. Wind was raging outside, making it unusually chilly for a summer's day. He watched it blow around the frizz in Hermione's hair.

He let her in silently. She didn't say a word, but kept looking up at him. "Did you find them?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded, "They're safely home, memories restored. They were quite angry when they found out what I had done, but of course they were glad I had come out alive." She gave a half-smile, "They said the next time I go out on a world-saving adventure, they'll go to Australia themselves, but they want memories of-" her smile faltered, "of their baby to stay."

Ron found he was still holding the door open, and so he turned around to close it. "How is—everyone?" she asked.

Ron did not turn around to face her, but said, "not good."

"I'm sorry."

Ron turned around and looked her in the eyes. He had not properly looked in them since-since that night. When they kissed.

_What if it was you who died in that battle?_ A voice in the back of his head asked him, _Or her? What if you never got the chance to tell her?_

_I already told her_ He thought to the voice, _We kissed._

_She kissed you, mate_ the voice responded, _in a moment of fear and desperation, at that. What if you never told her and you lost her forever?_

"Hermione." He did not know exactly what he was about to say, but knew he had to say it, before he lost his nerve. "I should have told you the moment I realized, and every day afterwards. I've known ever since—well, ever since the Yule Ball. Before that, I think I still knew it, but I was too young to know what it meant." She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he couldn't let her, or he would never tell her, "I love you, Hermione."

The wind blew open the door, and he had to push it closed again. The cold air that suddenly came into the room seemed to give him a pat on the back.

He turned back around and found that Hermione was much closer than she had been. She was looking up at him, unsure of what to do, unsure if she might hurt him more. But her love could never hurt him.

He almost unconsciously put his arms around her. His touch seemed to give her encouragement. "I love you too. I think I always have, I've just been too stubborn to realize." He looked so deep into her eyes he thought he might fall in. He bent down and gently kissed her.

This was not like their first kiss. While the first kiss had been more of a burst of passion, this was calm and cool and Ron knew exactly what he was doing.

He pulled away from her just as gently as he had kissed her. For the first since Fred's death, he smiled. She returned it.

_Thanks, Fred _He thought


	3. Charlie

Charlie took out his broom and decided to fly around the field where he practiced Quidditch as a kid. He felt the sun on his face as he flew around it in circles. He remembered playing with Bill and the twins and, when Bill was off at Hogwarts, Ron. He always loved playing Quidditch.

He remembered when he and Bill had first decided to let the twins play with them. To make the teams even, he and Fred played against Bill and George. Fred kept insisting that he was hogging the Quaffle. Fred was right. At the age of six, Fred was a terrible Quidditch Player, and Charlie decided he would take on Bill and George himself.

Charlie should have left for Romania three days ago. He had a job, he had to remind himself, a job that he needed. His family had gained some money now that Dad had been promoted, but they couldn't support Charlie for too long. Charlie needed to go out and earn money for himself, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Leaving this time was different than any other time. Leaving felt more like abandoning. If he left, what would he miss? Would another one die? Of course not, he told himself, the war was over now, but still he wanted to stay and make sure.

_I can't leave them like this_ he told himself. _In times of mourning like this, it was important to keep families together. I can't leave them, and I especially can't go as far away as Romania._

_But you can't stay forever_ a voice in his head argued back. _You have friends in Romania, you have a job, you have a life._

_But I'm needed here _he thought back to the voice.

He heard noises inside the house. Mum was making dinner for them all. Hermione was back, so they were going to eat outside again.

"Charlie!" Mum shouted, "Could you help set up tables?"

Charlie landed on the ground and dismounted. He hurried to put his broomstick in the shed before he ran towards the house to help. The wind blew in his face and made him go slower.

_You won't be gone forever_ the voice told him again, _You'll still be a part of the family, you just will have a life of your own as well. You won't forget him._

Charlie shook his head. This was one of his fears, that if he moved on with his life and went back to Romania, he would forget about his dear brother. If he wasn't crying every day and watching his family cry around him, he might forget that his brother was dead.

Charlie silently set up the tables and put utensils out for everyone. Bill was at Shell Cottage, so Ron came to help him.

"I got a job," Ron told him. Charlie looked up at his youngest brother.

"That's great. Auror office?" he asked. Ron nodded. Harry would be starting soon as well, they both knew. "When do you start?"

"Next week." Ron told him, "Harry and I, we're going to be moving to Grimmauld place. It's in London, so it's closer to the Ministry, and it's not like we'll have to pay rent."

Charlie nodded. So his little brother was leaving the house. Dad and Percy had already started working again, and Hermione and Ginny would be leaving for school in the fall. Even George would have to open up shop again soon, or else he would have to sell it.

The wind blew over him again, and in a moment, all his doubts had been pushed aside, and he knew what he had to do. "Yeah, that's great." He said to Ron. "I'll be leaving for Romania soon. Probably within the next couple of days."

Ron nodded as if he had been expecting this. "Great," he said, "It's good to get some free air, even if it's a little charred by dragon fire." Ron gave his elder brother a half smile. Charlie found himself returning it.

_Thanks, Fred_.


	4. Percy

Percy was putting in almost all his time at the office. His new flat was still undecorated, as he hadn't given himself a day off since he started working. Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had given him back his job as Junior Minister. The job was very different than it had been last year, as he was no longer afraid that his bosses might kill him.

Working kept him distracted. He didn't give himself time to think about the battle, or anyone that may have died in it. At least he didn't until the Minister had given him a rather unfortunate assignment.

"Mr. Weasley?" His assistant, Miss Turnpole, knocked on his door. She had been on the run last year because she was a muggleborn, but she seemed eager to return to her job. "The architects want a meeting about the design for the Memorial." Percy did his best not to flinch. Fighting in the battle was difficult enough, but now it was his job to commemorate those that had died.

"I'll meet with them tomorrow. I have to write to the Creevey family for photographs of their son. It seems he took more photos of other people than let photos be taken of him."

He turned back to the note he was writing. He would send it by muggle post in the morning. He looked up and noticed that Miss Turnpole hadn't left yet, but she was clutching a piece of paper in her hand. "Is there something you need, Ms. Turnpole?"

"Umm," she looked surprised that he addressed her. "Well, it's just that I was looking over the names of people who died in the battle, and, well—"

"And you saw the name Weasley," Percy finished. He had been expecting someone to notice the name. Miss Turnpole looked nervous, as if she was contemplating whether she should ask a question. "He's my brother."

Ms. Turnpole looked down, ashamed she brought it up. "It's okay" he told her, and he turned back to the letter.

The cabinet doors in his office suddenly popped with force enough to push back both of their hair. Ms. Turnpole rushed over to it to shut it. "Sorry about that," she said, "It's been temperamental recently. I've asked for someone from magical maintenance to come down and fix it." she bit her lip and turned to him. "I just thought, well, if you ever wanted to talk—but I guess you have your family for that." She shook her head.

She was partly right, but he felt slightly separate from his family. He had abandoned them for the better part of three years. He was grateful that Fred had forgiven him before he—no, he couldn't think like that.

_Ignoring it won't make it go away_ A voice in his head told him, _he died and there was nothing you could do._

_No, it should have been me _he thought back, _I was standing right there. I should have died in the blast. I shouldn't have distracted him. Why did I choose that moment to tell a joke? _"It was all my fault." He didn't realize until she gasped that he had said it out loud.

"No it wasn't!" she said, "I mean, I wasn't there, I don't know, but I'm sure it wasn't. It's just—my mother had a saying." She frowned as if trying to remember, "'The only person at fault is the one who actually did the action.' I mean, usually she was referring to her broken dishes, but I think it means that the only one who is really at fault is You-Know-Who. Does that make any sense?"

Percy was unsure at first, but he slowly nodded. "Your mother was a smart woman." He told her.

Ms. Turnpole smiled at him and nodded, "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

He shook his head. "Please, call me Percy," he said.

She smiled and turned to leave, "Thank you, Percy. And you can call me Audrey."

He nodded. "Thanks, Audrey," he found himself smiling at her. _Thanks, Fred._


	5. Bill

Bill woke up late in the night. As silent as he could, he got up and walked out of the room. He opened the back door and felt the cool winter air on his face. He looked out on the sea, but all he really saw was the small grave Harry had set up for the house-elf. From this distance, he couldn't tell that it was smaller than most graves. If it had instead been on a green lawn well beyond the Weasley household, it might have been Fred's.

"Bill?" He heard the wonderful, lilting voice of his wife behind him, but he didn't turn around. "Iz everytheeng alright?"

Bill nodded slowly. He was lying. He felt terrible.

She slipped next to him and put her arms around him. "Ze dream again?"

He nodded again and she squeezed him lightly. "'e loved you." He bit his lip but didn't say anything. "I remember ze first time you brought me to meet your family." She half laughed at the memory, "'e put somezing in your soup so it exploded all over you, and zen 'e asked me to pick him over –what waz it?—oh, yes, soup face!"

He bit his lip, but he couldn't help but smile. He had been so mad at Fred that day. "And you picked soup face." He said.

"Well, you were yummier." He couldn't help but laugh.

For a long time they stood there, watching the sea. After a while, he realized she was watching him concerned. He put his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart."

"I can't 'elp it." She said, "I'm your wife. I zee you 'urting and I want to 'elp." She stroked his hair out of his face.

"There's nothing you can do, honey. I'll be fine, I promise you." She rested her head on his chest and held him close. He leaned down and kissed her hair.

He wished she could help. Every time he began to feel happy, he remembered how happy Fred had been, and his happiness vanished. Every night, he dreamed about the last time he saw Fred, and he kept trying to tell him things, how much he loved him, how he would miss him, but the words were never able to leave his lips, and the harder he tried, the further away Fred got.

_You can't be unhappy forever,_ said a voice in the back of his mind, _Look at Fleur. She wants you to be happy. Can't you try for her?_

He looked down at his wife. _Being happy isn't as easy as just wanting or trying._ He told the voice, _I can't just make myself happy, or I would do it._

_Try_

He bit his lip again before saying, "Fleur?" he asked. She made a noise that told him she was listening. "We never got a chance to go on our honeymoon. But, the war's over now. What'd'ya say we take a trip to the South of France next week?"

She pulled away and smiled at her husband. "I would love to go on a 'oneymoon trip! But not France, zomeplace new. Oh, but—" she stopped, and suddenly looked fearful, "But maybee we shouldn't. I don't know if—" she bit her lip and continued, "if it would be bad for the babee."

Bill blinked multiple times and stared at her before the message managed to get through. "Baby?" he asked, stupidly. The wind picked up and blew Fleur's hair around so she looked more radiant than ever. She began smiling at his dumbfounded expression. "Baby?"

"Babee," She confirmed, "I was going to tell you tomorrow, but you seemed to need zomething to—to look forward to."

He smiled at her, and then the news really hit him. "Baby! I'm going to be a Dad! You're going to be a Mum!"

"I zink even living in England I will teach my children to call me _Maman_." She grinned as he smiled even wider and shook his head.

"I don't believe it. What are we going to do? We need to buy things, and set up a room here, and—"

"I zink ze first zing we need to do," She grabbed his head and held it steady, "Iz get time off work for our 'oneymoon. I zink ze baby and I could manage a nice vacation in ze mountains. Ze Alpes, maybee?" Bill nodded, suddenly too excited to sleep. A baby! "Maybee," Fleur said, hesitantly, "Maybee we could name ze baby Fred? If it was a boy, of course."

Bill grimaced "I think George is going to want that name reserved."

Fleur nodded and smiled up at him.

He smiled back at her. He pulled her back into an embrace. _Thanks, Fred._


	6. Arthur and Molly

Arthur watched Molly start to make breakfast, but soon he couldn't help it and he offered to help. It had become his habit ever since the battle. He just couldn't let her do any simple task alone.

They completed the task silently. After seven kids, it was strange to have the house so empty. It had been this way ever since Ginny had left for Hogwarts, but it was much worse now that—he forced himself to think the words—one of them would never come back.

Molly sniffed as she set out plates to put the eggs on. It was much faster to make breakfast for just two people. He knew her well enough to know she was just barely holding back tears.

"Molly dear," he said, stopping her before she put the food on the table, "It's been months. I know how you're feeling, but—"

"Then you should know I can't stop crying yet," She sobbed, "I lost my baby, Arthur. My little Freddie! I-I can't help it."

"I do know." Arthur said, pulling his wife into his arms, "I lost my baby too. But I also know Fred wouldn't want you to spend all your time crying over him. You know how he hated it when we were upset." She sobbed again, "Then again, that was generally because we were upset at him."

He had been hoping to make her laugh, but she sobbed even harder. "Molly darling, I was joking. Fred loved making us happy. Don't you remember when he and George had let gnomes loose in our house? You sent them to their rooms for an entire week, and we only let them out for bathroom breaks and meals. But-darling please stop crying-but, when they came out we found out they had spent the week making little flowers for you out of paper in their desks. You put them on the table like real flowers for weeks. And two years ago, they bought those wonderful new robes and hat. And Fred always wore those sweaters you made him long after they didn't fit."

"I know." She said, "I know, it's just, it's just—Oh, Arthur, it's Gideon and Fabian all over again." She sobbed even harder into his chest.

"Okay, okay, shh, think of it this way then," He stroked her hair, "He's with Gideon and Fabian now. They can tell him all about you as a child and he can tell them all about you as a mother. Oh, Molly dear," He forced her to look up at him, "You were a good mother to him. Can you think of the absolute mayhem that would have happened if you weren't there to keep him from—from blowing up toilets or something?" For the first time in months, her mouth twitched and she almost smiled. "And he loved you for keeping him grounded. He loved you for not letting him get too crazy."

She nodded to show she understood.

_You should listen to your own advice, _he thought to himself, _He loved you too, but you've been too busy trying to comfort your wife, you haven't grieved for yourself._

As if she had read his mind, she told him, "And he loved you for holding me back, so I didn't punish him too severely." She nodded again and wiped away her tears, "We were good parents."

"We are good parents, love." He smiled down at her, "We have six other children, you know. Not to mention Harry, Hermione, and even Fleur. And soon, darling, we'll have a little grandchild. And after that, maybe we'll have even more grandchildren. A whole houseful so we have to eat Christmas dinner outside in the snow."

She actually smiled at the thought, and Arthur found himself smiling as well. "I knew this would happen." Molly said, her smile beginning to dissolve, "I knew it wasn't possible we'd all get out of this alive. I just thought-"

"Molly, if I could have, I would have switched places with Fred in a second, and you would too. But Fred knew what he was getting himself into. He would have been happy to die for those he loves." Molly nodded again, and Arthur thought she would start crying, too, but she just rested her head against him and he began stroking her hair again.

"Your eggs are getting cold, Arthur," She said suddenly, "and you'll be late for work if you don't eat them right now."

Arthur pulled away from her and gave her a last smile before sitting down and eating the eggs. "You know," Molly said, "I don't know think I'll ever stop grieving, but I think I'm ready to—to start living again."

Arthur smiled at his wife and swallowed the mouthful of egg in his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling and said, "Thanks, Fred."

Molly sat down next to him, her own food in front of her, as the wind blew open a window. As she got back up to close it, she said, "Thanks Fred indeed."


	7. George

George sat in the front of the shop, gazing at the few customers who still walked down the aisles. The bright flashing signs in the front window hadn't been changed in months, and the general atmosphere was silent, as if it was a library. George hated libraries. They were so dull. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

One year. Almost to the day, actually. He had been the sole owner of the store for a full year, and things weren't going well. It was failing, actually. But again, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He was losing Galleons faster than a Firebolt could shoot across a Quidditch field on a bright, sunny day, but he found himself not caring.

He felt the wind on his face from outside and looked up to see who had entered the shop. Angelina Johnson was marching straight towards him, not even pretending to just be an ordinary customer and look at the merchandise.

George wasn't surprised she was there. All his old school friends had dropped by at one time or another. All his family as well, sometimes in packs. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had tried to gang up on him just a few weeks ago.

He finished a sale with a young boy who seemed to not have told his parents he was in the shop, because he ran outside as quickly as his small legs could carry him. He waited silently for Angelina to reach him. "Honestly, George, what do you think you are doing?"

He looked up at her, unsmiling. "Yes, I'm doing fine Angelina, how are you? So nice of you to ask."

"George,"

"I'm running my shop, and if you have no intention of buying anything, I'll kindly ask you to leave."

"You're not running your shop, you're trying to make rent, and you're failing at that, too." She nearly shouted at him. A girl nearby was pretending to look at a punching telescope, but she was really watching the exchange.

George shook his head, "What did you come here to tell me, Angelina? That Fred wouldn't have wanted me to waste my life? That you miss him too? That it's time to move on? I've heard it all, Angelina."

"I came to tell you you're an idiot." She said with not a little malice, "Do you think Fred would be this miserable if he was in your place? No he wouldn't. He would honor you by working as hard as he could at what you both worked for your whole lives!"

_She's wrong,_ a voice said in the back of his mind, _He would be just as miserable as you are. But you would want to make him smile. You would want him to laugh again._

He opened his mouth to yell, but he stopped short. He was tired at being angry with the people who were only trying to help. "It's not just that I'm missing him, Angelina," he said it softly enough that even the girl who was watching them would need Extendable Ears to hear him, "I can't think of anything. No new products, no new promotions, nothing. It's like—" he paused, shook his head, and then forced himself to say it, "It's like Fred took all the ideas with him."

Angelina's face softened, but she didn't look worried about him, like all his other visitors did. Instead she reached into her robes, "I know," She said. She pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and flattened it on the desk, "That's why I thought of something. I got the idea when my boss caught me talking about Quidditch with a friend instead of working. I thought, if only there was a way we could talk silently and look like we were working."

George frowned at her. Angelina wasn't necessarily strict about rule-following, but she never actually went out of her way to break rules either. She noticed his look, "My boss is a real jerk, I'm looking for a new job, but the point is, I thought of this." She indicated the paper, "I thought of those coins Hermione made us for the D.A., do you remember? If two people each had a piece of parchment like this, they could essentially pass notes to each other, without actually passing them to each other. They could even talk to other people who weren't even in the room, and they would look like they were just taking notes! Would've helped in History of Magic, don't you think?"

She smiled up at him to gage his reaction. He was dumbfounded. How had he and Fred never thought of this before? He picked up the piece of parchment. All that was written was _Testing-Angelina Johnson, Is this thing working?_ He looked up at her and then back to the parchment, "You know," he said finally, "A simple charm to make the ink disappear when the paper gets too full, and maybe something to make it look like something else to anyone but the owners, and I think we have a product." Angelina was beaming at her and he felt his mouth twitch.

"I'll be expecting a percentage of the profits of course," She said standing up, "For the original idea. I think 10 percent will do.

"Five," George responded.

"Eight, and I won't go lower." George nodded his agreement.

Angelina turned around to leave the shop, but George stopped her, "Angelina!" She turned back around, "Thanks."

She smiled at him again, and he smiled back, "I'll come and drop by sometime soon, shall I?"

George nodded again, "How about we meet at the Leaky Cauldron for Lunch on Saturday. Just to catch up, you know?"

She nodded this time, "Sounds good."

George watched her open the door and leave. It took him a moment to realize the little girl was trying to get his attention so she could pay for the telescope.

_Thanks, Fred_.

_Anytime._


End file.
